"Yes, dear grandfather, it is true," replied the young girl, as she threw herself at his feet, and clasped her arms around his knees. "It was the word of Christ that I read to you when, in the darkness of your soul, you cursed the day of your birth; it was the word of Christ that gave you peace when you would have denounced eternal perdition to your people!"
"You are a Christian at heart, Benjamina, and you love this Christian?"
asked the old man, slowly, and apparently with a painful effort.
"Yes, grandfather--yes. I cannot deny the truth," sobbed the weeping girl, as she bathed his hands with her tears.
"You, also, Benjamina!--you also, daughter of my Rachel!--the last hope of my old days, you also!"
Tears choked his further utterance, and the old man covered his head with his garment, turned away, and tottered towards the door.
"Farewell, then, for _this_ world!" said Benjamina to her sorrow-stricken lover, as with a strong effort she withdrew herself from his encircling arms. "Yonder--above! where love, and justice, and mercy rule--where Jehovah and Christ are one--we shall be united for evermore!--Father, I will go with you!" she said, as she hastened after the old man. "Take me with you, and let me die in your arms, but curse me not in the hour of death, for my soul has only bent to the will of the Most High."
"Lost, for this world!" sighed the young man, as the door closed upon her he loved so much; and all hope seemed extinguished for them on earth.
V.
"What is the matter with you, my son? You go about like one in a dream, and as if the world in which you live were nothing to you," said the old doctor one day to his son, the young painter, shortly after their guests had left them. "If you cannot conquer your love, and if the girl return your affection in an equal degree, I am willing to withdraw my objection to your marriage, and old Philip Moses is too worthy a man to wish to make you both miserable."
"I honour him for the unshaken sincerity of his religious feelings,"
replied his son, "although these will bring me to the grave. I have had a long conversation with him, father: I might have rebelled against his severity, but his mildness has overcome me, and taken from me my last hope. I know that from a sense of grat.i.tude he might bring himself even to join our hands; but the heart of the old man would break in doing so, and I should have to look upon myself as the murderer both of him and Benjamina. He is immovable in his adherence to his creed; and even though he might give Benjamina to me himself, he would curse her in his heart for having deserted the faith of her forefathers."
"But she has already deserted that faith in her own mind; she loves you; and the old man knows all this, yet he has not condemned her."
"Still he might do so, if she were openly to throw off Judaism. He loves her as he does his own soul, but he would deem his soul doomed to perdition if it could stray from _Jehovah_, as he calls his peculiar worship."
"Well, have patience, my son. The old man"s days are numbered. My medical knowledge enables me to tell you that death is already creeping over him.
"Ah, father! you do not know Benjamina; though her heart should break, she would be as true to the dead as she is to the living. But I would not that a knowledge of my grief should add to her sufferings, or deprive her of the peace she may perhaps acquire in the performance of what she considers her duty. Allow me to travel, father! There is no hope of happiness before me _now_ in this world; but I will seek tranquillity in the charming land which is sacred to the arts, and in absence from all that may recall the past."
Thus the father and son conversed, while the rabbi, Philip Moses, was engaged in consecrating the great sin-offering for his unhappy people.
Three days after this event the old man breathed his last in the arms of the faithful Benjamina.
VI.
"The Jews are going to bury their last prophet to-day," said a lounger on the "Jungfernstieg" to one of his a.s.sociates. "See how they are gathering from all corners! And any one of them who meets the hea.r.s.e must follow it."
"It is old Philip Moses," replied the other: "he was the only honest Jew in Hamburg, and some say he is the last of the old Mosaic type in the world. He died in the belief, notwithstanding all their wanderings and miseries, that _his_ nation were the holiest on earth, and G.o.d"s favourite people. When he was dying, they say, he had his windows opened, expecting that their Messiah would come flying in to carry him and his people away back to the promised land."
"What absurd folly!" exclaimed the first speaker laughing; "however, we must admit that he was consistent to the last."
And ridiculing the Jews, they entered one of the pavilions near the Alster.
Towards evening, a young man in a travelling dress stood at the gate of the churchyard belonging to the Jewish community, and gazed sadly and earnestly at a female figure, which, in a deep mourning dress, was kneeling by a newly-made grave. The traveller was the young painter Veit, who had engaged post-horses for that very evening to take him from his native town on his way towards Italy, where he intended to bury himself and his hopeless pa.s.sion amidst the cla.s.sic ruins of Rome.
Benjamina"s self-sacrificing devotion to her grandfather, and his patriarchal adherence to the faith of his ancestors, which held up to execration every departure from that faith, and the intermingling with those whose religion was different, had entirely destroyed his long-cherished hopes; but he determined once again to see his beloved Benjamina, once more to be a.s.sured of her sentiments towards him, and then to take a last and sad farewell.
With this resolution he had approached her dwelling, just as the hea.r.s.e, containing the mortal remains of old Philip Moses, was leaving it. Seeing this, he mingled among the mourners and followed the funeral _cortege_, although the pa.s.sers-by wondered to see a fair-haired Christian, in a travelling garb, among the mumbling Jews who accompanied the dead to his last resting-place.
When the mournful ceremony was ended, and they had all left the grave, Veit felt that he could not tear himself away; it seemed as if he found himself impelled to wait there the last scene of his sorrowful fate. He also thought that Benjamina would visit the tomb before night. This expectation was realized, for she did come, later in the evening, with flowers to strew over her grandfather"s grave. When he perceived her approaching, he stepped aside, not to disturb her in her pious duty; but he felt that _this_ was the sad and solemn place where he was to take leave of her for life. He remained at a little distance, gazing at her, as she knelt in prayer by the grave, and it was not until she rose to depart that he approached her slowly and silently. He held in his hand a cross of shining mother-of-pearl, which his mother had given him when a child, bidding him present it to her to whom in future he should give his heart. When packing his portmanteaus and desk, he had stumbled on this maternal gift, so long laid by, and he had now brought it to offer it as a parting _souvenir_ to her he loved so hopelessly. It seemed to shine with peculiar brightness in the clear moonlight.
"Benjamina!" he exclaimed; and she raised her beautiful dark eyes from the grave, and recognized him. But when she saw the shining cross in his hand, she sank on her knees, and folded her hands across her breast.
"Heavens! it is fulfilled!" she exclaimed. "His spirit shows me the symbol of peace and redemption at this grave."
"What!" cried Veit, in deep anxiety, "at _this_ grave?"
"At _this_ grave I was to be released, were his last words to me, as an angel enlightened his mind at the moment of death. And see, his spirit has led you here with that holy symbol in your hand, the sign of that faith, believing in which I shall be united to your crucified Redeemer for ever."
"Praised be the name of that Redeemer!" cried the happy Veit, "and blessed be that spirit which in death permitted you to seek redemption!
Now there is nothing to prevent our union, and I claim you as my bride in the face of the Almighty, and by this grave, where I had feared our final parting was to have taken place."
They joined their hands over the old man"s grave, and Benjamina then told how her departed grandfather, in his last moments, seemed to have understood that the n.o.ble predictions of David and the prophets respecting the Messiah had been fulfilled, that he had made the sign of a cross on his death-bed with his cold stiffening hand, and with a smile of ineffable happiness had yielded up his spirit in her arms.
"It was ordained, and it has been wonderfully fulfilled!" exclaimed Veit, as he and Benjamina knelt together by the new-made grave.
The following year, on the anniversary of that day, a happy Christian couple stood by a tomb, which was thickly strewed with fresh flowers; within that tomb reposed the aged Philip Moses, with his face turned towards the east. Benjamina clasped her beloved husband"s hand in one of hers, while with the other she pressed the mother-of-pearl cross to her heart.
"Now he knows the truth," said she, "and has seen the promised land, and the holy city which is lightened by the glory of G.o.d, and where the redeemed out of every kindred, and people, and nation of the earth shall be blessed for evermore!"
THE BANKRUPT.
FROM THE DANISH OF CARL BERNHARD.
About the end of the last century there lived in Copenhagen a wealthy merchant, whose name was _Kraft_. He was a proud, imperious man, who looked upon riches as the greatest of all advantages, and their possession as the universal, in fact, the only, pa.s.sport to, or rather source of, happiness. He was extremely rich. His housekeeper declared that he was not able to count his money, he had so much; he measured his ducats by the bushel, and was certainly worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Born in affluence, he had never seen the slightest diminution in the fortune which surrounded him, for his father"s mercantile house was already in its third generation, having descended from father to son, without any lessening of its capital during that long period, as there never had been more than one son in the family.
In consequence of this, the large means of the firm had remained undivided, and they had been enabled to extend their mercantile transactions over half the world. Their acceptances were as good as ready money. The present merchant Kraft had also an only son, but he had not, in accordance with the custom of his forefathers, taken him into partnership, for he must then have made over to him--at least in appearance--a portion of his supreme authority, and he was too haughty to share his power even with his only son. He had therefore established the young man in business on his own account, though, to a certain extent, under his own surveillance. Herr Kraft"s wife had died at an early age; she had presented him with all he wished--a son, who might, in progress of time, carry on the affairs of the house and uphold its name and high credit. When she afterwards presented him with a daughter, he was so alarmed at the possibility of such gifts becoming too abundant, that he thought it rather a fortunate circ.u.mstance that the birth of this child cost its mother her life. The unwelcome little girl was sent to the care of an aunt, who brought her up, and it was not until she was a young woman that she returned to her father"s house, where, however, she found no sympathy. Her brother was just married to a girl with a handsome fortune, and he had removed to a house of his own. The family now consisted of Herr Kraft, senior, his daughter, and his cousin, an old maiden lady, who was received as an inmate of his house after his wife"s death, to give her a home, said Herr Kraft--that he might have some one to vent his ill-humour upon, said Miss Regine herself--that there should be another torment in the house, said the counting-house clerks and the domestic servants, who hated her and her fat, snoring pet, "Mops," as much as they feared Herr Kraft and loved his daughter. For Louise was their declared favourite, and, if need had been, they would all have gone through fire and water for her.
A complete contrast to the merchant was his relative, Herr Warner. He was of a mild, una.s.suming character; he could easily mould his own wishes to those of others, and he valued wealth only as a means of doing good. In all his actions he was guided much more by his feelings than his interests. The lives of these two gentlemen had been as different as were their characters. Herr Warner"s parents had not been rich. His mother had made an _unfortunate_ marriage, according to the merchant Kraft, for her husband had lost his small inheritance, and had gone abroad to seek for fortune under foreign skies. Herr Warner, on the contrary, considered that his mother had made a _fortunate_ marriage, for her and her husband"s mutual affection outlived the loss of their property, and if they did not become rich in the distant country to which they had gone, they at least obtained a competence there, and a peaceful, happy home.
After the death of his parents, their son went, with but a poor heritage, to the East Indies, where he married a young lady without any fortune. Good luck, however, seemed now to attend him; his cotton plantations throve well and yielded large returns, and a beloved wife and three fine children made his home a paradise. At the expiration of a few years he determined to return to his native country, there to enjoy the fruits of his labours. An infectious disease, however, just then carried off his wife and her elder children, and with his youngest daughter, who alone was left to him, he sailed from India. But she died on the voyage, and was committed to the deep. Thus deprived of every tie, friendless and hopeless, the much-afflicted man quitted the ship in a French port, and repairing to Paris, he resided there for some few years, endeavouring to while away his time in the pursuit of science and literature, the pursuit of wealth having lost all interest for him, who had no one now for whom he cared to work. At length he returned to his native city, where he lived quietly, frugally, and in great retirement, visiting at very few houses except at that of his cousin Herr Kraft, in whose family he appeared to take a warm interest; the regard, however, which he entertained for them all was only returned by the daughter, who became much attached to him. Herr Kraft made a point of disputing with him every day, and had so accustomed himself to this amiable habit, that he absolutely could not do without his relative and these demi-quarrels. There were many different opinions about the state of his finances. "He must have saved something in the East Indies, where money is as plentiful as gra.s.s," said some; but others, among whom was Herr Kraft, declared "that he only had enough to make shift with, and it would be a wonder if the little he possessed should hold out during his life--for he was one of those persons whom Dame Fortune seldom favoured, as he did not put a proper value on her gifts, letting his money slip through his fingers by bestowing it on everyone who came with a whining tale to him, he was so foolishly soft-hearted." And Herr Kraft was right there.
In the large drawing-room, which was furnished more richly than tastefully, and where everything looked stiff rather than comfortable, Herr Kraft and Herr Warner were pacing up and down. Their conversation had come to a stand. They had been disputing about some of the measures of the government, and Herr Kraft had called the government stupid and despotic; he said it took upon itself to be the guardian of the nation, and to treat the burghers as if they were children under age, prescribing for them, forsooth, what they were to do, and meddling in their own private affairs! He was as warm a supporter of free trade for the higher grade of merchants, as he was an advocate for restraints upon the working cla.s.ses, for he looked upon all those in an humble sphere of life as "trash, full of fraud and tricks," who must have "a rod held over their heads." It was the old story--liberality for the higher, despotism for the lower; and this will be repeated till the end of the world. Herr Warner had differed from him in opinion; he thought confidence might be placed in a wise government, and he wished freedom and justice for _all_, whether they were rich or poor. The argument might have become an angry one, but Warner gave in, for he was anxious to avoid exasperating his violent-tempered cousin, to whom he had come that morning on a delicate mission, requiring no small degree of tact.
A very fine young man, who had been for some time much attached to Louise, and who had won her affections, had determined to ask her hand in a respectful letter to her father. But the reply he had received was a flat refusal, Herr Kraft having made up his mind to listen to no proposals for his daughter except from a suitor selected by himself.
Louise wept and was very sad. "Aunt Regine," as she was styled, favoured her with sundry ill-natured dissertations upon ungrateful and disobedient children, Mops growled and snarled as if he were taking part with his mistress in the family disagreement, and the entire house and household appeared even more dull and silent than usual. Herr Warner exerted himself to the utmost to bring his cousin to reason, but in vain. Herr Kraft was much enraged that his daughter should have presumed, even at the house of his own sister, to have become intimate with any person who was unknown to him, and could not forgive her having dared even to think of anyone as a lover without _his_ permission. "And the fellow such a poor wretch into the bargain!" For what was a small landed property, not much bigger than a couple of peasants" cottages and cabbage gardens? He was of an ancient and n.o.ble family, it had been said--but what of that? He, Herr Kraft, did not care a straw for n.o.bility; it was merely an idea--an imagination--that some men are to be better than others, because their forefathers, perhaps a hundred years ago, had been people of some renown. Herr Warner maintained that such an "imagination" contained a moral obligation to be also a distinguished, or at least a worthy man, not to dishonour one"s ancestors; and reminded his cousin that he himself was by no means indifferent to his descent.
"No, in that he was certainly right," said the merchant: "but _he_ had good grounds for his pride in his forefathers, because for more than a hundred years they had been wealthy merchants, who had established and maintained a highly-esteemed commercial house. _That_ was something solid--not mere fancy." And then he went on exhibiting all that arrogance which is sometimes to be found among the rich burghers, who are quite as proud of their wealth, and their burgher"s brief of a century old, as any n.o.bleman of his genealogical table, or his forefathers" wounds or scars received on the field of glory. But Herr Warner had to go away without having disclosed his errand, and could only console poor Louise with the uncertain hope of a brighter future, in which, however, he himself had little confidence.
Soon after, her prospects became still darker. Herr Kraft gave notice suddenly one day that he had promised Louise to the son of one of his commercial friends, that the betrothal was to take place in eight days, and the wedding in three months. The husband destined for Louise was the son of a rich man, but he was far from handsome, and was still less agreeable. Aunt Regine bestirred herself to make every preparation for the betrothal; Louise implored with tears that her father would not insist on this sacrifice; she said she would give up the man she loved, to please him, but she could not marry another. Uncle Warner, as Louise called him, did all he could for her, and pleaded her cause with her father to the best of his ability; but Herr Kraft laughed--a thing he seldom did--at hearing him speak of true and faithful love. "Sheer folly, childishness, absurd sentimentality and foolery, that would not pay a shilling of interest."
"You will make your child miserable," said Warner.
"On the contrary, she will get a husband worth half a plum, with the prospect of a great deal more," said the father.
"That may be; but he squints, and has red flaming hair."